


a thousand armies couldn't keep me out

by bisousniall



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:38:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisousniall/pseuds/bisousniall
Summary: a 50 part word prompt fic





	a thousand armies couldn't keep me out

**Author's Note:**

> [shows up to the fandom nine years late with starbucks + fanfic]
> 
> remember back in the old school lj days when word prompt tables were a thing? well as an old fandom crone, i certainly do. i also did that weird livejournal aesthetic of all lowercases. sorry. each drabble is exactly 100 words, and you can find the word prompt table i used [here](https://100-prompts.livejournal.com/82878.html#cutid2)
> 
> none of these drabbles follow a chronological order. they jump all over the place from during the war, to after the war, and as such they deal with a range of issues, and some of them are just straight up sappy. if you were able to watch the show you shouldn't have issues with any of the content in here.
> 
> not beta read or anything so if you see any mistakes uh, please let me know. title is from seven devils by florence + the machine.

**one. first kiss**

it was reckless. only an absolute fucking idiot would take such a monumentally stupid risk. 

and yet...

snafu’s lips were dark red and shining in the sun, the liquid from whatever water packed fruit they were rationed dripping down his mouth. no less than 10 hours ago eugene had become intimately acquainted with those lips. in the messy and confusing blackness of the night it almost hadn’t seemed real.

but then eugene caught snafu’s gaze, and for a brief moment it felt like they were the only two people in the world. like the whole fucking war wasn’t even happening. 

**two. final.**

eugene thinks about it frequently. his last kill.

he can’t remember what he looked like. did he even see his face before he died? it’s been well over two years, eugene can’t remember.

(merriell curls tighter into himself next to eugene. they fall asleep intertwined every night, but eugene knows merriell would rather sleep in his current position. he thinks it’s a self preservation thing. he knows merriell still battles his own demons on a daily basis, tries not to take it personally.)

did he have someone he loved waiting on him?

god-willing it will have been eugene’s final kill.

**three. numb.**

_ will I ever feel the same again? _

eugene couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t be. he’d be cursed to walk the earth for the rest of his life, numb to the pain he’d caused and the pain a normal man might feel in his heart.

maybe that’s why snafu was so determined to not make it out of this alive. can’t bear to live with the knowledge of what he’s done. what this war made of him.

was he even a man anymore or just a vessel for death? was he worth more than the destruction he could inflict?

**four. broken wings.**

snafu keeps having the same dream. he doesn’t dare speak it out out loud even though it threatens to come out every time he wakes up to eugene standing over him.

it’s never the exact same, but the general idea is there. in it eugene is an angel, sent to protect him, but he loses his wings in the war. beautiful, white, cloud-like feathers disintegrating into dust as he tries to keep snafu alive. he can never return to heaven now. he’s stuck here with snafu, in this hell on earth.

it’s a little on the nose, snafu thinks ruefully. 

**five. melody.**

eugene doesn’t learn of merriell’s proclivity until they’re stateside again. he’s a completely different person, scrubbed clean, singing under his breath. 

_ o, tite fille, c'est pas la peine,  _ _  
_ _ tes menteries vont rester sur ta conscience _

eugene doesn’t understand it, but merriell’s voice is pleasant. his voice lilting over the melody in a natural musicality that has always fit his tone. he falls asleep to it on the train. they’re the last two left of their group and eugene is sleepy anyways, and merriell’s voice so soothing.

_ la verite va peut-etre te fair du mal _ __  
_ mais quelqu'un va toujours te recompenser _ __  


**six. rules.**

“don’t talk like that,” becomes one of the many oft repeated phrases merriell hears coming from eugene. he knows it must be upsetting to hear about how merriell thought he was never going to make it out of the pacific alive. or maybe he didn’t even want to.

he gets it. or he tries to.

sometimes when merriell is particularly grumpy he’ll grumble about fucking  _ rules _ , but they’re part of eugene’s defences, much like merriell has his. 

and sometimes “don’t talk like that,” sounds like “I can’t picture my life without you,” which sounds a lot like “I love you.”

**seven. chocolate.**

getting back into regular eating habits is something eugene never really prepared himself for. the first few months are full of stomach aches, diarrhea, stuffing his face, and accidental fasting. the first time he has chocolate again he throws up. it’s much sweeter and richer than he remembers and it’s barely down for ten minutes before he’s throwing it up again. 

his parents are trying, they really are. but they just don’t get why eugene isn’t able to dig into a meal with the vigour he did before the war. 

_ just another part of me that’s broken _ he thinks, grimly.

**eight. nostalgia.**

cool rivers. clear blue skies stretching further than the imagination. sun kissed green meadows. chasing after sidney on a hot summer's day, never able to keep up, but trying his best.

it’s easy to romanticize the past when the future is so bleak. it’s not something they speak out loud often, but when they do eugene notices snafu never contributes. he wonders if snafu has no nostalgia for the past. eugene always assumed snafu was haunted by the horrible things he’d seen in the war, but perhaps it stretched back further, into a childhood he never wanted to speak of.

**nine. heartbeat.**

it was like counting sheep, only more tangible. some nights it was the only way he could fall asleep. a reminder that he kept one promise, to make sure eugene made it home alive, and broke one, to not bring home any emotional baggage. he had seen it kill other men, the way they hung onto their reminders of the horrors of war. but that wasn’t eugene, he reminded himself. no, eugene was the only good thing to come out of the whole mess.

so merriell closed his eyes, and counted that irregular heartbeat of eugene’s .

_ one, two, three, four… _

**ten. stranger.**

the mirror lied. that’s why eugene could hardly stand to look in it some days. he couldn’t reconcile the man he saw looking back at him with the man he knew himself to be, before the war. he was a stranger to his own eyes. everything felt muted. his hair, his eyes, his drab skin. none of it seemed right. he was sure even his momma didn’t want to look at him because it wasn’t her son she’d see staring back. he wishes snafu were here. he’d just scoff, light a cigarette and tell eugene to stop being fucking dramatic.

**eleven. confusion.**

eugene awoke with a start as the train pulled away from a stop with a lurch. it took him a few seconds to realize he was alone.

snafu was gone.

he didn’t even say goodbye. eugene’s initial reaction was confusion, maybe anger. after all they’d been through and he couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye?

on the other hand, what do you say to someone who was your everything for so long? who you slept beside and ate with, who you trusted with your life so intensely you thought that alone would kill you. how do you say goodbye?

**twelve. bitter.**

“disgusting” merriell declares. his nose is scrunched up, and eugene wants to kiss him again so bad, so he does. even though merriell just declared it disgusting, he still meets eugene with an open mouth, their tongues touching softly, and the feeling sends a thrill right down to eugene’s stomach. still, after all this time.

merriell sucks gently on eugene’s tongue before pulling away. “that black coffee you drink makes your mouth so fuckin’ bitter.”

“that sweet tooth of yours is gonna kill you one day.”

“not before you kill me, sweetheart.”

eugene kisses him again, just because he can.

**thirteen. afterlife.**

eugene doesn’t get drunk much, and there’s a damn good reason for it. 

“will you wait for me?”

“gene i ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“if you get to heaven before me, will you wait for me?”

merriell snorts. eugene can barely sit up straight, is leaned over onto merriell at their kitchenette. they’re lucky they made it home before eugene got loud and touchy feely. 

“you’re drunk, boo. I ain’t even believe in all that. even if i did there’s no way they’re letting me in.”

“merriell, i don’t want to go to heaven if you’re not going to be there.”

**fourteen. daybreak.**

eugene was so used to getting up at the crack of dawn. before it was school, and deacon. he always woke up early so he could take deacon for a run before he had to be on the school bus. then during training it was just military discipline. up before the sun rose, running miles before he’d even had breakfast. during the war, it was necessity. he never truly knew the meaning of tired until he was being woken from a fitful four hours of sleep by a equally sleepy snafu, the golden hot sun barely even touching the horizon.

**fifteen. audience.**

“kiss me, eugene.” 

“we’re in public, merriell.” eugene argues weakly.

“where’s the fuckin’ audience, then?” merriell gestures to the empty subway car they’re occupying, before snaking both freezing cold hands underneath eugene’s jacket to rest at the small of his back. “ain’t no one here.”

eugene is powerless to his demands. merriell’s mouth is open and willing, as velvety soft and intoxifying as ever. eugene spares a thought to worry if they’re going to get caught. most people in new york mind their own business but there’s no guaranteeing what type of person might get on at the next stop. 

**sixteen. endless sorrow.**

in his dreams it never ends. the war is a beast that can’t be killed. it goes and goes and goes.. he’s sixty years old and still freezing in the mud with a rifle in hand. snafu is long dead. a fast and violent sacrifice to the war gods.

it’s only when he wakes does he realize that merriell’s warm body is next to him. he gets to wrap his arms around him, feel his ribs moving with his breath. be comforted by the knowledge that merriell is so used to his presence he hardly stirs.

sorrow is never endless.

**seventeen. fireworks.**

it seems stupid, given their myriad of stolen kisses throughout the war, but eugene doesn’t realize he has actual feelings for snafu until the war ends. he looks just as disillusioned as eugene feels, neither of them can convince themselves to join in the celebration. they just get more and more drunk as the fireworks go off, illuminating snafu’s face red, blue green, yellow. he seems lost in thought, staring into the distance and not even smoking the lit cigarette in his hand.     


_ what do we do now? _ eugene echoes in his head.  _ what do i do without snafu now? _

**eighteen. wishing.**

snafu stares at eugene. he can’t help himself. he’s not sure if eugene notices, if he does he probably thinks it’s just snafu being well, snafu. the reputation that precedes him any time someone uses the nickname. so he stares and he wishes. not prays, there’s no room for god in war. 

he stares and he wishes that things were different. sometimes he wishes they’d never met at all, because eugene should have never had to come to place like this. sometimes, at his most despondent, he wishes he could kiss eugene, and that it wouldn’t make a fucking difference.

**nineteen. happy birthday to you.**

eugene loses track. the last time he had a proper shower, a proper meal, felt truly clean. the days meld together in a haze of mud, shit, and mortar blasts. can’t remember the last time he took a decent shit that didn’t leak sickly from his body.

he’s kept tallies in his bible but they start to lose meaning. each line indiscernible from the other. until he sits down and decides to count one day.

“it’s my birthday,” he says out loud, not to anyone specifically, but snafu is there to hear it, of course.

“well. happy fuckin birthday, sledgehammer.”

**twenty. tomorrow.**

it’s a mantra they used a lot during the war, and they use it after too. it’s a reminder that time keeps passing, and maybe it would be different. it was stupidly optimistic during the war, but afterwards it’s usually apt. each day they left behind, each day farther from the war they got, the better it was. 

eugene remembers whispering it over and over into a shaking merriell’s ear.  _ tomorrow. tomorrow. it’ll be better.  _ that day they learned merriell would need more time getting used to the busy subway in new york, the city they decided to call home.

**twenty one. oppression.**

it’s not something he dwells on often. they’re lucky, merriell reminds himself. they’re lucky they get to be anonymous in a city this size. they’re lucky that eugene managed to land a job doing something he loved, ornithology, in the biology department at a prestigious new york university. they were lucky to even be alive.

and yet, he couldn’t help but be envious. sometimes they’d walk down the street together and merriell would see couples hand in hand, or with their arms around each other in casual affection. something merriell and eugene couldn’t afford no matter how anonymous they were. 

**twenty two. agony.**

eugene was sure he was going to die. again.

he couldn’t get comfortable no matter what he did. he was so hot he’d be sweating with his blanket on, but as soon as he tossed it off his sweat cooled to his skin and he’d be shivering within seconds. the pounding in his head made it hard to even keep his eyes open.

after several agonizing hours, merriell returned home from work.

“dumbass, why didn’t you call me sooner if you was feelin this bad?” merriell chided as he shook the contents of the pharmacy bag out onto the bed.

**twenty three. return.**

he sometimes thought he’d never see him again. by the time he finally does his burning hot anger is barely a flicker.

eugene had thought about it many times, but it was always eugene making the trip out to louisiana. he never imagined snafu swallowing his pride first. sometimes he’d greet him with a punch, all that fire in him taking over. other times it would be with a hug. one memorable scenario involved a kiss.

it was never this, snafu standing on the sledge front porch in his dress blues, looking more sheepish than eugene had ever seen him.

**twenty four. protection.**

“i think if you were an animal, you’d be a dog. like one of those scrappy little ones that look mean but their bark is worse than their bite.”

“what the fuck does that mean, burgie?”

“it means all the new boots are scared to even come close to sledgehammer on account of they think his guard dog is going to attack them.”

at the mention of his name, gene looks up from his bible.

“what do i have to do with this?”

“gene doesn’t need protecting.” snafu argues.

“then stop snarling at anyone who who gets close to him.”

**twenty five. boxes.**

eugene hadn’t seen merriell this happy in ages. or possibly ever. they finally had the privacy they had lacked throughout the war, and the years after it. which meant fucking on an uncovered mattress on the floor of their new apartment, surrounded by unemptied moving boxes, if they damn well pleased. 

eugene opened him up, bit by bit, like they had all the time in the world because in that moment, they did. he pushed in slow as molasses, and merriell let out that broken cry that eugene had come to love. and merriell didn’t lose his grin, not once.

**twenty six. hope.**

“there’s no room for hope in war,” merriell used to say, which was utter bullshit, of course. so much of what merriell used to say was bullshit.

all you could do in war was hope. 

“you did talk some shit back then,” eugene laughed.

“shut up, sledgehammer. i would have said anything, if i thought it would help me out of there alive.” it had been a long time since merriell had called him anything but eugene or more likely, gene. the nickname sounded just as good rolling off his tongue as it did the first time he said it. 

**twenty seven. preparation.**

merriell was tense, he usually was. part of the process of preparing him was also helping him relax. he was too eager, eugene supposed. wanted to get at it right away and didn’t give his body time to get used to the idea of something entering him.

he went slow, much to merriell’s frustration. first one finger, then two. then gently scissoring. then pressing in as far as he could while merriell writhed, pushed back against eugene’s fingers as best as he could. eugene knew the sensation merriell was chasing and he pressed in harder, chasing it along with him.

**twenty eight. beautiful.**

it was the first thought that entered snafu’s head when he saw him. finding something unruined in war seemed impossible and yet. sledge’s clean skin and sunfire hair was beautiful.

he says it for the first time when he’s drunk, of course. he couldn’t dream of it otherwise.

“you’re beautiful.” 

“what was that?”

“you’re beautiful,” he repeats. “i need you to know, i’ve always thought it. since the moment i laid eyes on you.” 

eugene takes a sip of his whiskey. “hush up.”

“i can’t. and i won’t, i’m gonna tell you every damn day until we die, eugene sledge.”

**twenty nine. lies.**

merriell shelton is a lot of things. he’s harsh, brash and uncouth. but he can be loving and thoughtful, in his actions rather than words. he can be closed off in his emotions but wide open with his body. he can be so many things at once eugene gets dizzy with it. but one thing merriell shelton will never be is a liar. he’s honest to fault. he won’t sugar coat to make eugene feel better. so when he whispers “i’ll love you until i die,” as he presses kisses to eugene’s neck, he knows it’s the god honest truth.

**thirty. underneath.**

this is his favourite version of eugene. they have a rare weekend to sleep in together, and the winter morning sun shines directly in their bedroom window. eugene is golden, his hair and pale skin catching the light making it look like he’s a sunbeam himself. he looks warm and inviting, tucked underneath the covers as he is. merriell could get up, put on the coffee and start frying up some eggs, but instead he turns over, burrowing further underneath the covers himself. he pulls eugene’s sleepy body into his own, their limbs fitting together in a practiced, relaxed ease.

**thirty one. hide.**

snafu can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to get caught. that the horrors of war are going to catch up. he’s lived his few short months stateside in a sort of haze. mostly he feels like he’s hiding, from everything. from reality, from his emotions. from eugene sledge. he keeps expecting the dam to break. either one day he’ll open his door to eugene’s angry face on the other side, or he’ll break and be on the next train to alabama. until then, he just continues with the motions. waking up, going to work, coming home, going to sleep...

**thirty two. diary.**

“put your diary away, we gotta go.”

“it’s not a diary.” eugene was tired of the war and of snafu’s shit, enough to forget his better judgement and finally snap back at him.

snafu stopped in his tracks, turned back towards eugene, got real low so they were face to face.

“wanna say that again, boot?”

“it’s not a fucking diary, snafu.”

snafu leaned in closer. he could feel his hot breath against his face.

“don’t matter what the fuck it is, i said move. out.” he was up and trudging away before eugene even had a chance to reply.

**thirty three. unforeseen.**

eugene has always had vivid and terrifying dreams. when he was a kid it wasn’t rare for him to wake up in the middle of the night, crying from his latest nightmare. 

as a boot he dreams too.

in camp he dreams of war, of wreckage, and death, and heat. nothing can quite prepare him for the reality of it all. the pain, the stench, the blood, the mud, the absolute soul destroying aspects of it all.

no dreams can prepare him for snafu, breathing down his neck, eyes on him constantly. watching, sometimes judging. 

the unforeseen relationship that blossomed.

**thirty four. conditional.**

“will you fuck me later, genie?” merriell was incorrigible. ever since they moved out on their own he was insatiable, seemingly willing to live a life on his knees for eugene. and he only ever called him genie when he was trying to rile him up into being forceful. unfortunately, it usually worked. 

“only if you behave yourself. keep your hands to yourself, private.” 

they were getting drinks at a bar with eugene’s colleagues, as “friends” and ex-army buddies. it was a role they were practiced in, from all the time spent around eugene’s family.

“where’s the fun in that?”

**thirty five. gone.**

eugene has it down to the second. at first snafu was just a big reminder of how not to be, someone to avoid unless you wanted weary and judgemental eyes on you. 

suddenly he was the guy who opened eugene’s can of rations when he struggled with his can opener, the guy who always had his back.

but it was when eugene found out deacon died and snafu slumped down next to him, his presence suddenly calming instead of stressful. and eugene knew that was it. he was gone for snafu and he didn’t think he would ever come back.

**thirty six. clear skies.**

they were in colorado. it had rained the last few days and the air was thin and cold. they pulled over at a gas station and merriell filled up the tank while eugene went into the gas station and came back with an armful of junk food. he wanted to kiss him as he approached, but he knew he had to wait.

once they were both in the car, merriell leaned over and kissed eugene, trying to put every stupid emotion he’s ever felt about him into it. then they kept driving until they reached the clear skies of california.

**thirty seven. heartache.**

he knows what this is, even if he doesn’t want to name it: heartbreak. the worst part is he can’t blame anyone besides himself. he’s the one who got off the train without saying a damn thing. eugene hadn’t reached out, but what was merriell expecting from someone who didn’t even get a goodbye.

sometimes he operated as if eugene was still there. he’d think of smartass remarks, and turn only to realize eugene wasn’t actually there. he’d wake up in the night, gasping for air, trying to drag himself out of a nightmare, only to realize he was alone.  
  


**thirty eight. wired.**

“you want to get a what?”

“a television set, everyone in my department has one.”

“so that means we gotta get one? can we even afford one?”

“you know i’ve been putting some money aside, i think i got it.”

“i don’t even understand how it works.”

“it plugs in to the wall like a lamp.” eugene gestures wildly, excitement in his voice. “we gotta get a guy in here to set it up, they’ve got a bunch of wires that i don’t understand but we’ll be able to watch television in our own home.”

“whatever makes you happy, genie.” 

**thirty nine. insanity.**

snafu is sure he lost his sanity in the war. there’s a good reason he’s known as snafu, and his reputation often precedes him. in some ways it’s easier, he never has to pretend he has it together because no one expects it of him. 

but then he meets eugene. sledgehammer. he is beautiful and kind,  and it’s obvious he doesn’t belong in a filthy and horrible place like the pacific. and merriell doesn’t know how to fucking act towards someone who deserves kindness in return. doesn’t remember how not to be cruel. maybe he really did lose his mind.  
  


**forty. foolish.**

“this is dangerous you know.”

“i don’t fucking care.”

merriell is smaller than eugene, but he’s strong from a life of hard labour. strong enough to push eugene against the side of a brick wall and keep him there while he kisses the life out of him. it’s a cold fall night, but merriell’s lips and body are warm where he’s pressed up against eugene.

“you’re a fool.” eugene says after they break apart, but he can’t hide his stupid grin. 

“i don’t care.” merriell repeats, a matching grin on his face. he leans back in for one more kiss.

**forty one. words.**

merriell has worked with his hands his entire life, he’s never had the need for a formal education. eugene is book smart, and merriell is street smart, that’s just how they work.

but one day merriell is home by himself, and he finds a copy of the great gatsby that eugene must have left lying around and, well. he has nothing better to do with his day, so he sits down and reads and gets lost in the words on the page. he keeps reading until he’s startled by eugene coming in their front door.

“hey mer--are you...you reading?”

**forty two. study.**

it’s a bit creepy, eugene knows, but he can’t help himself. when merriell is awake, he hates being stared at, and when he’s asleep it’s the perfect time to study him. his messy dark curls, how they stick out wildly in different directions from being on his pillow. the elegant slope of his nose, his full top lip, the brutal cut of his sharp jaw. he only wishes he could see his big, deep set eyes, but they’re covered by his delicate eyelids. maybe the only delicate thing about him.

“gene, i know you’re fucking staring at me.” he mumbles.

**forty three. punctual.**

“didn’t anyone at that fancy university teach you to be on time?”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry merriell. just lost track of what i was doing.”

“hell i thought for sure you would have learned it in the army. was your drill sergeant soft on you or something."

“only one in the army soft on me was you, private.”

merriell laughed and shook his head.

“and look where that got me, with a boyfriend who can’t read a fuckin clock to save his life.” 

“boyfriend, huh? don’t remember agreeing to that. what would my momma think?”

“shut up, sledgehammer.”

**forty four. piggybank.**

when you don’t have much, you gotta save every last penny. that’s a lesson eugene learned from merriell. they put every spare penny into a cheap piggybank merriell picked up at a second hand shop.

on cold winter new york nights, merriell would hold eugene tight to his chest and whisper promises.

“one day, we’re gonna cash in that piggy and i’m gonna take you somewhere warm.”

“peleliu?” 

“shut up, gene. i mean somewhere we can sit in the sand under the sun and not worry about gettin’ bombed. i’ll rub lotion on your pale back so you don’t burn.”

**forty five. shooting star.**

the long distance thing was never going to be easy. eugene needs to finish school, merriell needs to keep his job, and he can’t live indefinitely with eugene’s parents. so merriell goes home to louisiana, both of them making a promise to figure something out, and to write every week. 

sometimes eugene would look out his window at night, and remind himself that merriell was seeing the exact same sky as he was. that he wasn’t very far away at all. one night he sees a shooting star, and makes a wish that he’ll be back with merriell very soon.

**forty six. writers choice : nicknames.**

eugene’s brain differentiated a during-war snafu, and post-war merriell. he didn’t even realize it until merriell pointed out that he never called him snafu since they reunited (he phrased it that way too,  _ reunited _ , as if merriell didn’t show up on his porch like a lost dog months after the war). in his thoughts he even referred to him as snafu if he was thinking about the war, as if his brain had to separate him into different beings in order to reconcile the shift. sometimes, when he was trying to be cute, merriell still whipped out a drawled  _ sledgehammer.  _

**forty seven. writers choice : tease.**

merriell knows exactly what he’s doing. he’s wearing that tight white shirt and those trousers that hug his ass in a way that shouldn’t even be legal. he knows eugene won’t do anything about it because they’re in a crowded bar, and eugene’s work friends are there, and he just  _ can’t. _ when he takes a long pull from his beer, and lets the bottle pull on his bottom lip, knows that they look red and wet and inviting.

that night when eugene pushes him into their mattress with a hissed  _ fucking tease _ , merriell will know that he’s won, as always.

**forty eight. writers choice : blood.**

it’s something that merriell never gets used to again. the sight and smell of blood is enough to make his stomach turn. he almost passes out when he cuts his knee open at work, blood coming through the scrape in droplets. but when eugene cuts his finger open when preparing dinner, something shifts in him. he’s in medic mode, and it isn’t until he’s got eugene patched up and bandaged that he feels light headed, and has to sit down, even though eugene was the one who was just bleeding out.

“you okay merriell? it was just a little cut.”

**forty nine. writers choice : fingertips.**

“put-put it in my mouth.” merriell pants. it’s something they’ve never tried before, it’s not too weird and eugene is open to trying new things to please merriell. he doesn’t slow down his thrusts as he places the tip of his thumb in merriell’s mouth, and it’s immediately cradled by the warm heat of his tongue. merriell closes his mouth around it and sucks gently, and eugene cups his hand naturally around his chin. something about it works because merriell looks fucking blissed out, and eugene can feel his orgasm building rapidly as his thrusts become more and more sloppy.

**fifty. writers choice : drive.**

merriell spent months souping up a hot red chevy bel air. he talked about it a lot, even though eugene hardly had any idea about cars, he listened intently because of the look on merriell’s face. he was a lovesick fool and he knew it. 

one summer day merriell asked “where do you want to go?” eugene said “california.” they packed, threw the suitcases in the trunk, and left their apartment. merriell grabbed eugene’s hand and kissed the back of it, because he could. because they were still young, they were free, and they were in love. and they drove.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me and talk or yell at me at my tumblr [here](https://inferiormacchiato.tumblr.com/)


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